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Happy Mother's Day - by Request!

From: Kids-Right (kidsrigh@hammer.thebook.com)
Date: Sun May 09 1999 - 16:32:20 EDT

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Folks,

        Here is a message we got from one of the people in the
group to pass on to all. It hits a special nerve by talking
about all the special moments, and all things parents do for
their children -- but which at times seem so trivial when
you're sitting in a Court Room trying to describe why you
want contact with your kids -- and what you have to give them.

        Enjoy!

==================================================
From: DrLois@aol.com
Date: Sat, 8 May 1999 21:48:07 EDT
Subject: Re: Happy Mother's Day!

Thank you so much for the touching story. Those of us who are single moms
always experience holidays differently, even on the years we have our kids.

I found a lot of comfort, humor and shared pain in the following piece. You
kight want to also pass this on to your friends.

Thank you for all you do for families,

Lois Nightingale, Ph.D.
ww.nightingalerose.com
=========================================================

Didn't Win Mother of the Year? - Me Neither

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you hang my first painting on
the refrigerator, and I wanted to paint another one.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you feed a stray cat, and I
thought it was good to be kind to animals.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make my favorite cake
for me, and I knew that little things are special things.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I heard you say a prayer, and I
believed there is a God I could always talk to.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I felt you kiss me good night, and I
felt loved.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw tears come from your eyes, and
I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw that you cared and I wanted to
be everything that I could be.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I looked ... and wanted to say
 thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking.

This is for all the mothers who DIDN'T win Mother of the Year in 1999.

All the runners-up and all the wannabes. The mothers too tired to
enter or too busy to care.

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers
at soccer games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that
when their kids asked, "Did you see my goal?" they could say "Of course,
wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick
toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer
wieners and cherry Kool-Aid, saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here."

This is for all the mothers of Kosovo who fled in the night and can't
find their children.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see.
And the mothers who took those babies and made them homes.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew
Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.

What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad
 hips? The ability to nurse a baby, fry a chicken, and sew a button on a
shirt, all at the same time? Or is it heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son disappear down the
street walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 a.m.
to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear
news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, a baby dying? I think
so.

So this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and
explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted
to but just couldn't.

This is for reading "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And
then reading it again. "Just one more time."

This is for all the mothers who mess up. Who yell at their kids in the
rocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a
tired 2 year old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their
shoelaces before they started school.

And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.

For all the mothers who bite their lips -- sometimes until they
bleed--when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't
stop.

This is for the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair
and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their
daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all the mothers whose heads turn automatically when a
little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own
offspring are at home.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their
children's graves.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find
the words to reach them.

This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with
stomachaches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there,
only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to
please pick them up. Right away.

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and
sleepdeprivation. And mature mothers learning to let go. For working
mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and married mothers.

Mothers with money, mothers without.
This is for you all. So hang in there.

=====================================================
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